Many Faces
by The Lark
Summary: Ever wonder how Kay, Leroux, Webber, and the rest could all be telling the truth about Erik? Here's your answer.
1. The Early Years

**Many Faces**

Disclaimer: Don't own any version of POTO. It belongs to Leroux, Kay, Webber, etc.

_Summary:_ _Ever wonder how all those contradictory versions of Phantom of the Opera could possibly be true? Well, I've done some sleuthing and finally worked out how they all fit together. Enjoy, or at least try not to get too disturbed._

**Chapter One: The Early Years**

In 1832, in a little town just outside Rouen, the boy who would become the Phantom of the Opera was born. His mother, Madeleine, was understandably distraught when she saw the hideous deformity marring her only child's face.

"Get that ugly thing away from me!" She shoved the child into the arms of the village priest, sobbing miserably. "Ugh, this is a mother's worst nightmare, giving birth to an unsightly supergenius! I'd kill my husband for getting me into this mess if he wasn't already dead."

The priest just bit his lip nervously. As the only confessor in the village, he was one of the few people who knew the truth about the baby's father. Poor Charles had dutifully catered to the whims of his wife for the past couple of years with the patience of a saint. The people of the village had looked on the man with a mixture of pity and awe, as none of them could stand to be in the little brat's presence for more than five minutes without cracking. But when the hormones from her pregnancy had kicked in, her whining tantrums, violent mood swings, and an increasing tendency toward throwing things at his head had become too much even for her patient husband. A couple of months ago, he had faked his own death and run away to start a new life managing an opera house in Paris.

While the good priest didn't like the idea of anyone dishonoring their marriage vows in such a manner, he couldn't help but sympathize with the poor man, having been forced to sit through several of Madeleine's tantrums himself over the years. "Uh, yeah." He coughed awkwardly. "Well, no use crying over spilled milk. You've got to think up a name for your new baby."

"I'm not in the mood," she sniffled. "If this thing wants a name so badly, he can name himself."

"Yay!" her newborn piped up. "I was hoping you'd say that. I've always been partial to Alexandre…"

"GAH!" The priest nearly dropped the child. "Dang, you weren't kidding about the whole supergenius thing, were you? This is amazing!"

Madeleine peered down at the baby distastefully. "Ugly _and_ overly smart. He'll never be one of the cool kids now."

The baby hadn't been paying attention. "…Or how about Antoine?…No, no, that's much too common…"

"Do you ever shut up?" grumbled his mother.

"There's no need for childishness, mother," the ugly wonder-baby chided.

"How dare you call me childish, you unattractive prodigy! Oooooh, just for that, I'm having you christened…" she paused for a moment, then grinned wickedly. "Ermenegilde Rudophe Ignatius Konstantine."

The baby burst into tears, and the good priest gasped in horror. "How can you be so cruel to your only son?"

"Oh, I'm just getting started!"

She kept little Ermenegilde Rudophe Ignatius Konstantine, E.R.I.K. for short, locked up in the attic for the next nine years, occasionally letting him out for music lessons, architecture lessons, or a round of emotional abuse. She forced him to wear a mask over his deformed face, and never showed him the slightest amount of affection. As is to be expected, he went a little nuts, and even took up _ventriloquism_ in his desperation for someone to talk to. He'd sit up there all day, debating politics with his stuffed animals and gossiping with his tin soldiers.

His mother spent her days going from adoption agency to adoption agency, asking if they knew of anyone who would be willing to take a creepily smart, monstrously ugly, utterly insane little ventriloquist-in-the-making off her hands. Tact had never been her strongest suit.

Mother and child were both perfectly miserable the entire time, but Madeleine cheered up a little when a gorgeous doctor named Etienne Barye came to town and instantly fell in love with her. Of course, at first, her behavior towards her son put him off at first.

"I'm shocked that you could even think of treat your own son this way," he lectured her. "It's unthinkable! Locking a disfigured child up in your attic!"

"You really think so?"

"Yes, you should have drowned the ugly thing years ago."

"I knew it!" Madeleine moaned miserably.

"But," Etienne continued, "as long as you keep his door double bolted, I'm willing to indulge you."

"Aww, that so sweet! Let's get married!"

Erik, who had been listening at the door, eager for some dirt to talk over with his tin soldiers, rolled his eyes. "Ugh. I never thought there could be someone more shallow than her, but she's found him. Looks like these two were made for each other. Well, I'd better hit the road before his indulgence runs out and I find myself at the bottom of a river." He climbed into the window, pausing to pick up his stuffed monkey Bob. Bob, the only one of his stuffed animals more ugly than Erik himself, had always been his favorite. "Come on, boy. If Mom doesn't want us around, we'll find somebody who does."

"If your own mom can't stand the sight of you, what make you think perfect strangers will be able to?" he made Bob reply through ventriloquism.

"Shut up, Bob!" he shouted, shaking the monkey furiously.

Erik made his way to a nearby village that was hosting a Gypsy freakshow. Smoothing his hair and straightening his necktie, he ducked into the first tent down the line and bowed politely to the bearded woman and two-headed man playing a round of bumper pool inside. "Good evening, ma'am and sir…uh, sirs. One disfigured little ventriloquist and one unimaginably ugly stuffed monkey looking to join on, here."

"You'll have to talk to the guy in the tent to the left of us, kid," replied the man's left head.

"No, no, no, Dmitriy, you've got it all wrong. He's two tents to the right of us. Idiot," grumbled the right head.

"Thanks!" called Erik as he headed down the line. He stepped into the tent, placing Bob on his shoulder for full effect. "Good evening, sir," he said to the Gypsy sitting inside. "Today's your lucky day. The unbelievably ugly Erik and Bob have come for a place in your freakshow."

The gypsy shrugged. "Okay, why not? You can never have too many freaks. I'll hire you on one condition."

"What?" Erik asked eagerly.

"Keep the monkey out of sight when I'm around." He shuddered.

"Deal!" Erik stuffed the monkey inside his vest. "So, I guess we'd better come up with a name for my act."

"_Our _act, Erik." Erik threw his voice to sound like it was coming from inside his vest, then switched back to his normal voice.

"Shut up and be a team player, Bob!" he hissed.

The rather confused gypsy thoughtfully eyed Erik's death-like visage. "How about we bill you as 'The Living Corpse'? It fits, doesn't it?"

Erik shrugged. "I don't know. It's fitting, I suppose, but it just doesn't grab your attention the way a freakshow attraction should. What we need is something with a little more pizzazz, like… 'The Devil's Child!'"

"Don't tell me how to do my job, kid!"

"Okay, fine, how about a compromise? We'll use my title half the time and yours the other half and see which draws more spectators."

"Would you care to put a little money on that?"

"Ten francs okay?"

"Deal!" crowed the gypsy.

"It's all settled then." Erik concluded brightly. "I guess you'd better show me to the stage."

"Well," drawled the gypsy hesitantly. "It's not a stage… so much as it is a cage."

"Huh? Wait a minute--!" Erik began to protest.

"No take-backs!" The gypsy cut him off, tossing him into a cage.

TBC…

A/N: Mostly Kay so far, but there will be more of the other versions in the next chapter. Let me know what you think.


	2. The Great Escape

Chapter Two: The Great Escape

Erik spent the next few years locked into a cage in the gypsy freakshow, crowds screaming and laughing at his deformities, nobody for company but Bob, getting crazier by the minute. When the gypsies stopped off in Paris for a few days on their way to Vegas, however, real trouble arose.

One night, Erik's gypsy keeper escorted a crowd of chittering little ballerinas into his tent, blissfully unaware of his approaching fate. "…And this is where I keep my prize freak, the ugliest creature in the world! Bob the monkey!" The gypsy ripped the cover off the cage proudly, to reveal Erik crouched on the floor, wearing a burlap bag over his head, discussing the need for more effective disability rights laws with Bob.

The girls paled at the sight of the stuffed monkey. "_AAAAAAAAAGH!"_

"Oh my God! He's hideous!"

"Someone poke out my eyes! I'm begging you!"

Half of them fainted dead away, while the other half screamed and retched uncontrollably. "Oh, I almost forgot..." The gypsy ripped the sack off Erik's head as an afterthought. "This creature in the cage with him is Ermenegilde Rudolphe Ignatius Konstantine Destler. Or, as he is better known, 'The Living Corpse'!"

Erik stood up, poking his head through the bars of his cage. "I think he means 'The Devil's Child'."

"Don't start that again, kid!" growled the gypsy impatiently, turning back to his customers. "Now, as I was saying, the Living Corpse here--"

"Prefers to be called 'The Devil's Child'." Erik broke in.

"Must you do this during _every damned show_!" snarled the gypsy.

Erik sighed long-sufferingly. "You're just jealous because the people like my name better."

"They do not!"

"I don't want to take sides," one of the ballet rats piped up, "but 'Devil's Child' really is a lot more catchy."

"See?" Erik smirked triumphantly.

"Shut up, both of you!" Erik's gypsy keeper roared.

"I'm sorry. This guy's never had any sense of showmanship," Erik told the girl, shaking his head sadly.

"You little ingrate!" the gypsy shouted, throwing the cage door open and storming inside.

"I really hate to interfere again," the ballet girl ventured, "but Devil's Child, or Living Corpse, or whatever his name is, seems to have a point." She indicated the floor where the audience had been standing moments ago. It was now nearly empty, with the last two or three fainters picking themselves up off the ground and stumbling for the exit.

Erik threw up his hands in exasperation. "Now look what you've done! You've gone and scared off the audience again! This is exactly what happened when we were auditioning for Cirque du Soleil!"

"And then you wonder why you keep getting passed over for that assistant manager position," Erik made Bob chime in.

"_Shut up, shut up, shut up_!" The infuriated gypsy grabbed a conveniently nearby stick and began to beat Erik mercilessly.

"Ow! Knock it off! Ow!" The boy fell onto the dirty floor of the cage, trying to shield himself. "Dang it, _somebody _sure has trouble taking constructive criticism! _Ouch_!" He scrambled away from his captor. "That's it, Bob and I are sick of you taking your problems out on us!" Erik grabbed a conveniently nearby noose and began to choke the life out of his keeper.

The gypsy's eyeballs bulged, and he gasped for air. "Ergh…I knew I should have used that hunchbacked kid from Notre Dame instead…" he rasped out, falling on the floor with a thud.

"What was that?" a muffled voice outside the tent muttered.

"I don't know. It sounded like a disfigured pre-teen strangling a Gypsy," a second voice replied.

"Think we should call the cops?"

"Naw. Let's get an angry mob instead. Less paperwork to fill out that way."

"Right behind ya!"

"Uh oh." Erik coughed awkwardly. "Maybe I should have thought that out a little more thoroughly."

The little ballerina, who still hadn't left the tent for some reason, still seemed sympathetic in spite of the brutal murder she had just witnessed. Maybe her boss was incompetent, too. "Aw, poor kid. Come with me. I know a place where you can lay low until the heat is off you."

Erik's eyes lit up. "Really? And Bob, too?" He held up the monkey imploringly.

The girl cringed. "Oh, all right, Bob too." She grabbed him by the hand and towed him through the streets, stopping in front of an enormous opera house. She pulled open a grate in one of the walls and motioned for him to climb through. "In you go."

Erik frowned suspiciously. "What is this place, anyway?"

"This is the Webbére Opera House."

"I've never heard of it."

"Yeah, it's kind of obscure. The audiences are always pretty small. Once that Paris Opera House they keep talking about building is finished, I think I'll see about getting transferred there instead. Now hop in, quick."

Erik obediently climbed inside. "Wow, what's this elaborate maze of tunnels doing under the theater?"

"Do you want my help or not?"

"Sorry," Erik apologized quickly.

"I've got to go, but I'll come back later and bring you some food and clean clothes, okay Ermenegilde?"

Erik shuddered. "Call me Erik," he yelled after her.

Meanwhile, Webbére Opera House manager Gerard Carriere, formerly Charles Destler, was taking a stroll through the tunnels. Not many people knew it, but he was the one who had built them. As a mason, it had been an easy task for him, and now he had the perfect place to hide out if his wife ever came looking for him. He came down every now and then to do a security sweep, and had never found an intruder…until tonight.

"AGH!" He nearly jumped out of his skin when he discovered that his stronghold had been breached by what looked like a walking corpse.

"AGH!" Erik, thinking the mob had finally caught up with him, screamed at the top of his lungs.

Charles looked the intruder over carefully. Why, this wasn't an undead creature! It was just a little boy with a deformed face. Poor kid, he looked scared to death. "There, there, child, don't be afraid." He smiled warmly, stooping to pick up a stuffed animal that the boy had dropped in his state of panic. "Here, son, you dropped your…" The moonlight shining through the grate fell across the face of Bob the stuffed monkey, and the blood drained from Charles' face. Not because he was frightened by Bob's ugliness, but because he immediately recognized the monkey. It had been his wife's one attempt at sewing, created for the baby during her sixth month of pregnancy. He still remembered the day she had shown it to him. He had told her it looked very unique, she had accused him of not being sincere, and whacked him over the head with a lamp.

He shuddered, his fingers tracing the scar now hidden by his hair, dropping the hauntingly familiar monkey on the ground. Wait a minute, if this boy had Bob…that meant…holy macaroni! His eyes went wide. This was his son!

Erik looked at the pale, shivering wreck of a man in front of him with concern. "Are you all right, Monsieur?"

"I'm fine," Charles squeaked less than convincingly. Dear lord, what was he going to do now? Obviously Madeleine had tracked him down and sent the child after him. He looked his son over in terror. He didn't even want to think about how ruthless any child raised by that woman would be.

Erik was still studying his father intently. "You know, you look awfully familiar to me. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"N-no!" shrieked Charles frantically. "I mean, uh, that's impossible. You see, I'm…uh…well…foreign!" He immediately affected a cheesy Italian accent. "Pleased to meet-a you, I'm-a Giovanni, from-a the city of Roma."

"Er, I'm Erik Destler."

"Well, Erik, this is really no place for a little boy; you should be getting home to your mother." He was now pushing Erik toward the exit. "Here, some cab fare to get you home!" He thrust a purse full of coins into the boy's hands.

Erik stared at the money in disbelief. "But monsieur, there must be two hundred francs in here!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" He shoved his billfold into Erik's pocket. "Here, take it all, just go home, quick!"

"I don't really have a home." Erik slumped his shoulders dejectedly.

"Oh?" Charles paused, looking the boy over curiously.

"Yeah. Mom and her new boyfriend were going to keep me locked up for the rest of my life because I'm so ugly, so I ran away."

A wave of guilt washed over Charles. This was all his fault. Leaving an innocent child in the hands of that wife of his was unforgivable. Well, he was going to make up for it, starting right now! "Tell you what, son, why don't you come live with me for a while?"

"You mean at your house in Rome?"

"Uh…that's right…in…er, Roma." He made a mental note to purchase himself a new house in Rome and a set of phony I.D.'s. that night. If this child ever found out that this was the man who had left him alone with Madeleine for all these years, he'd never forgive him. "I can teach you all about architecture, would you like that?"

"Cool! Thanks, Giovanni!"

"Anytime, son. I think you'll like living with me. I've got a daughter about your age." During his years as Carriere, Charles had adopted a girl named Luciana. Actually, that was a funny story. The whole reason he had adopted her was because he had suspected at first that _she _was the child he had abandoned. She was the right age, and she could have been a clone of Madeleine, even in her behavior. _Especially_ in her behavior, actually. Charles shuddered again. "That reminds me. I promised her I'd be home with her ice cream in twenty minutes. We'd better hurry."


	3. The Rosy Hours and Other Disasters

Chapter Three: The Rosy Hours and Other Disasters

The next few years Erik spent living in Rome with Charles/Gerard/Giovanni were the happiest of his life. Giovanni quickly recognized his genius, and began to pass down his impressive knowledge of masonry and architecture. They were two peas in a pod, and got along perfectly. And Erik loved the city of Rome, with all its beautiful architecture and art. He picked up the language so easily that he was speaking only Italian within a week. Still, much to his confusion, Giovanni continued to talk to him in French with a bad Italian accent.

Another plus was that he had plenty of privacy at Giovanni's. The old man had tried to be generous by giving him a beautiful, spacious room on the second floor, but Erik had insisted on living in the cellar instead. For some odd reason, he had a feeling he ought to get used to the idea. About the only drawback to his perfect new home was Giovanni's daughter, Luciana.

"Erik!" she would yell down the basement stairs every morning. "Wake up! Get up here and feed my cats! You were supposed to do it an hour ago! Then you're going to drive me downtown to get some new shoes, before Daddy wakes up and realizes that I've got his credit card. Hurry up, you lazy bum!"

A disgruntled Erik trudged upstairs, still groggy, disheveled, and carrying Bob the monkey. "All right, all right, I'm coming. Just stop yelling."

"And leave that hideous monkey in the basement!"

Erik's yellow eyes glowed dangerously behind his mask. "You know, I've been beaten and spat upon all my life, so it doesn't really bother me when you kick me around like a dog. But when you attack Bob, that's going too far! Apologize this instant! _Or else_!" He pulled a knife out of his boot and brandished it threateningly.

She giggled. "Gosh, you're cute when you're angry."

Erik looked like he'd been hit over the head with a sledgehammer. "Cute? C_ute! _I am not cute! I'm a tortured teen with a talent for murder, and you'd do well to remember it, you get me?" He advanced on her menacingly.

She just sighed like a besotted fangirl. "Want to make out?"

"I…I…I…" Erik stuttered lamely. "You're crazy!"

"Shut up, you masked weirdo!"

"Don't tell me to shut up! You're the one who started this whole thing by being so nasty to Bob."

Luciana's crush on Erik had made her insanely jealous of the toy monkey he loved more than anything else in the world. "I'm sick and tired of hearing about Bob!" Luciana screamed. And before Erik could realize what she was doing, she ripped the monkey from his arms, pulled its head off, and threw it out the window.

Erik, furious and heartbroken, probably would have killed her on the spot if Giovanni hadn't interrupted them. "Luciana, have you…uh, I mean, have-a you seen-a my Mastercard?"

"Eep!" The girl ran from the room at lightning speed.

Erik's father shook his head. "Damn kid. She…" He trailed off, noticing the murderous look on what he could see of Erik's face. "Hey, what's-a the matter, son?"

"She killed Bob," Erik snarled angrily. "Well, I'll show her! I'll build a new monkey who's twice as ugly! And I'll dress him up in a funny outfit, and then I'll attach him to a music box that plays an irritatingly repetitive tune!" The masked boy laughed evilly. "She'll rue the day she got rid of Bob! MWAHAHAHAHA!"

Erik spent that entire day building his new monkey, whom he christened Rob. "Heh heh." He gathered the monkey music box into his arms and climbed upstairs. "I'll show her. Hey, Luciana! Where are you?"

He found her up on the roof, scratching the words "Luciana + Her Unworthy Weirdo 4-Ever" inside a heart on the railing. He groaned, blushing furiously beneath his mask. "Cut that out, already!"

Her face lit up when she saw him. "Erik! You decided you wanted to make out after all?"

"I most certainly did not!"

"Now, there's no need to be shy. Take off that mask and get me my coat and we'll go on up to Makeout Point. We'd better hurry, though, if we're going to make it back before Daddy gets home."

Little did she know, Charles hadn't really left the house. He had been spying on Erik all day. He felt bad about invading his son's privacy, but he had decided he needed to keep a close eye on the boy ever since the whole episode that morning. Erik, Charles had decided, took after him a little too much. If this "romantic" relationship with Luciana went any further, Charles could easily see them becoming clones of himself and Madeleine in a few years. Well, he'd die before he'd let that happen to his only son!

"I am _not_ taking my mask off!" Erik didn't appreciate her changing the subject in this way. "I came up here to show you the consequences of destroying Bob, and I won't rest until--"

She didn't even seem to hear him. "Aw, come on, I bet you're totally gorgeous under that mask. Take it off."

"No dice."

"I wasn't asking, buster!" Luciana warned, picking up a lamp and aiming it at Erik's head.

"AAAAAAAAGH! NO!" screamed Charles, overcome by déjà vu. He had to stop this! Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. He leapt out of his hiding place. "Erik, do as she says."

"Sure, sure, take _her_ side just 'cause you're _her_ father," grumbled Erik.

Charles bit back a burst of ironic laughter. "Just do it."

Erik reluctantly removed his mask and Luciana began to scream. "AAAAAAAAAGH! Oh my God! I can't believe I've been flirting with someone _ugly _all this time! This is humiliating! When the girls at school find out about this, my life is over! I don't want to live!" She jumped off the roof, instantly killing herself.

Charles peered over the railing. "I knew she'd do something like that. Whew, that takes care of that problem. Thank God. I was so worried about you, Erik, I--" He turned around, only to discover that Erik had vanished. "Erik?" But Erik was already halfway to the city limits. He figured he'd probably worn out his welcome after that whole charade, and had decided to hit the road.

Fortunately, onboard a ship to Constantinople not much later, he bumped into a Persian police chief, or "daroga". The daroga had been sent to find a new adviser for the shah and sultana. He'd been searching for several years, but to no avail. They kept insisting that his candidates didn't have the psychotic edge they were looking for. The daroga, ready to give up, was sitting at the ship's bar drowning his sorrows when a strange looking masked man walked in.

"Give me some of that stuff in the bottle with the fire hazard label on it," Erik ordered, sitting down next to the daroga and sighing miserably.

"Evening," sighed the daroga.

"Evening," muttered Erik semi-politely. "I'm Erik Destler."

"Nice to meet you. My name's Nadir Khan, but I'm in the process of having it legally changed to 'The Persian Daroga'."

"Wow, you must really love your work."

"Not really. My bosses, the Shah and Sultana of Persia, were having trouble keeping their underlings' names straight, so they made us all change our names to our job titles. I don't like it one bit, but I could have it worse, like my buddies Royal Toilet Scrubber and Imperial Weed Puller. But enough about me. Why the long face, pal?" The Persian Daroga asked.

Erik snorted sardonically. "Well for starters, I'm a disfigured genius who was raised by an emotionally abusive mother, locked up in an attic for nine years, then imprisoned in a cage at a freak show for three years. Then when I was twelve, I had to kill a guy in self-defense. Now I've had to flee the only real home I've ever had because I accidentally killed my first girlfriend."

Daroga's ears perked up. This guy was really messed up. He was sure to be crazy enough to suit the shah! "Say, friend, what do you do for a living?"

"Well, I work as a freakshow attraction to pay the bills, but I'm actually a world-class architect." He pulled a metal club out of his coat and brandished it menacingly. "And if I hear you questioning my credentials, I'll bash your head in."

And he was murderous, to boot! The sultana would love him! He had to convince this weirdo to come back to Persia with him. "Well, what a coincidence. It just so happens that the Shah of Persia has sent me abroad to search for a brilliant…architect… such as yourself. You interested in a job?"

"Perhaps." Erik's interest was piqued. "What would my duties be?"

"Amusing him when he's bored, threatening his enemies, performing acts of unholy torture…oh, and, uh, building things, too."

"Oh. Well, okay," Erik replied uncertainly. A job was a job, after all.

Unfortunately, Erik hadn't realized what he was getting himself into. The only bright spot in his stay in Persia was the learning annex course he took on how to kill people with a lasso. Once he arrived in the capital city of Mazenderan, he became a virtual slave to the whims of the sultana, or as she preferred to be called, khanum, a corresponding but creepier-sounding title. A horrible, twisted woman, she tortured Erik mercilessly from day one. But not with mere racks and whips, no, she preferred the crueler art of mental torture. Her favorite trick was to surround poor Erik with shades of hot pink, and watch him suppress his screams of horror. He had been through a lot, though, and didn't crack as easily as her other playthings had under the same treatment. This just made her more determined.

She had his bedroom and all his possessions painted hot pink. Only Rob the Monkey survived unscathed, as Royal Painter and Royal Painter's Assistant (formerly Jamal and

Hatim) had been too afraid to look at such an ugly item, much less paint it. Erik refused to be manipulated, however. He just picked up Rob and went to stay with his good friend Daroga until new wallpaper could be put up. The khanum flew into a rage when she heard, and, not to be thwarted, ordered every building in Mazenderan to be painted florescent pink.

When the people of Mazenderan saw what had been done to their fair city, they were outraged. Once the they found out that it had all happened because of Erik, they were anxious to be rid of him. Heaven only knew what other horrors the khanum might unleash upon her people in her unending quest to annoy Erik. They formed an angry mob, captured him, and sold him to a gypsy freakshow that was on its way out of town. Erik didn't bear a grudge. He was just glad to be escaping the khanum and her hot pink city. For years to come, he would have nightmares about the bright pink disaster area, an incident that would go down in history as "The Rosy Hours of Mazenderan."

Sadly, Erik's troubles were far from over. His new boss was even more vain and incompetent than the unfortunate fellow he had murdered all those years ago. This one wouldn't even use the advertisements he designed. He also refused to let Rob be part of the act, insisting upon keeping the show family friendly. Finally, one day while they were passing through Paris, Erik got fed up and decided to stick up for his friend.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, this is the hideously ugly Erik Destler--" the gypsy announced, leading a couple of customers in.

"And Rob!" Erik shouted defiantly, holding up his ugly monkey box for all to see.

"How many times have we been over this, you masked moron?" shrieked Gypsy Keeper #2.

"I'm just trying to help, monsieur; there's no need for petty name calling!" scolded Erik.

"Ermenegilde, is that you?" cried a voice in the back. "It's me, Antoinette Giry!"

"Who?" Erik looked up to see the girl who had hidden him away after the untimely death of Gypsy Keeper #1. "It's you! Thank God! This guy's been stifling my creativity like crazy!" Erik whomped Gypsy Keeper #2 over the head with the ugly monkey box, and he slid lifelessly to the floor.

She grabbed Erik by the hand and dragged him out a back door. "Come on, I know the perfect place for you to hide out."

"The Webbere Opera House again?" Erik panted as they ran down the Rue Scribe.

"No, actually I work at the Paris Opera House now." She pulled him to a stop in front of the beautiful, luxurious theater and opened a secret door. "Hop in."

Erik peered inside quizzically "There's a secret system of tunnels beneath this opera house, too?"

"Long story. In you go." She gently shoved him through the door, and he toppled into the massive underground lake below with a noisy splash. "Pah!" He spat out a mouthful of murky green water. "Thank you, I think," he called back up to her. Holding Rob above the water with his left hand, he paddled toward the shore with his right.

He wearily crawled ashore, collapsing on the bank with exhaustion. "Well," he mused, flopping onto his side to face Rob, "this place has potential. Add a few aromatherapy candles and spike traps, and it could make a wicked lair."

"Hey!" boomed a voice behind him. "Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in my lair?"

Erik scowled. "Hey listen, buddy, I hate to rain on your parade, but this is _my _lair now, and…" He looked up, right into…a mask? He sprang to his feet, circling the second masked man warily.

The second man's white porcelain mask was much smaller than his own, covering only the upper right third of his face. The other two thirds were quite good-looking, actually, with striking green eyes and handsome chiseled features. His dark hair was neatly slicked back. He was very tall and muscular, dressed up in a well-tailored evening suit. Erik frowned. "And just who are you?"

"I asked you first!" thundered the stranger.

"If you must know, my name is Ermenegilde Ignatius Rudolphe Konstantine Destler, but if there's any mercy in your heart, you'll call me Erik."

The second man gaped incredulously. "It can't be…Erik Destler?"

Erik raised an eyebrow, which didn't do him good since he had his mask on over it. "Do I know you, monsieur?"

"I'm your brother!"

Erik stared dumbly. "I beg your pardon? Are you drunk or something?"

"No!" The stranger shook him by the shoulders. "My name's Eustache Romulus Isidore Kentigern Barye, but I go by Erik for reasons I'm sure you can understand."

"Barye?" Erik (Ermenegilde) repeated suspiciously. "Your name is Barye?"

"Yes," Erik (Eustache) confirmed. "After you ran away, your mom married my dad, Dr. Etienne Barye, and they had me a year later."

Erik (Ermenegilde) looked his alleged half-brother over carefully. There was certainly no family resemblance between the two of them. Erik Destler's eyes were golden, while his brother's were green. His brother had dark brown hair, while he didn't even have enough hair to be sure what color it was. And his brother was built like a construction worker, while he was built more like a toothpick. Although, Erik Barye did look just about the right age for the story he told, forty or so, ten years younger than Erik Destler. And he did look vaguely like Madeleine and the doctor. Dear God! Those two airheads had reproduced together? Erik Destler feared for the human gene pool.

The first Erik folded his arms skeptically, trying desperately not to believe any of this. "But if you were born deformed, like I was," he gestured toward the second Erik's mask, "then why didn't your dad drown you at birth the way he always wanted to do with me?"

The second Erik shook his head. "No, no, I wasn't born this way. I used to be gorgeous. There was an accident many years ago. You see, I'm a musical genius just like you. And I spent my teen years writing a complex piano composition for the opera. It turned out perfect, so when I graduated from school, I decided to sell it." He massaged his temples bleakly. "I really needed some money to get my own place. Eighteen years with those parents of mine had nearly stolen my sanity.

The first Erik felt a twinge of grudging sympathy. "Go on."

"Well, I wanted to have my music published, but the publisher tried to steal it, so I wrung the little twerp's neck."

A strange feeling of brotherly pride washed over the first Erik. "Oh?"

"Yeah, but in the ensuing scuffle, I got a bucket of acid tossed in my face."

The first Erik rolled his eyes, his contempt returning. Such incompetence was exactly what he would have expected from the offspring of his mother and that idiot doctor.

"Anyway," continued the second Erik, "The cops were after my blood, and Mom and Dad certainly weren't about to help me now that I wasn't gorgeous anymore, so I had to skip town. So I came to Paris and got a job as an architect. I was Charles Garnier's silent partner, helping to design this opera house. Eager to be away from persistent cops and prying eyes, I built this impressive maze of tunnels underneath the opera house, and when the place was finished, I moved in." He made a sweeping gesture with one arm, drawing the first Erik's attention to the little island he lived on. It was cluttered with scattered sheet music and ornate furniture, including a big pipe organ and a swan shaped bed draped with velvet sheets. "It's a nice enough place, and the idiots up in the opera house give me whatever I want." He snickered. "Several Halloweens ago, I crashed the opera house costume party as a ghost, and the fools thought I was for real. I've been stringing them along for years now, and they keep on believing. They even pay me twenty-thousand francs a month! Oh, and last week, I ordered them all to come to work dressed up as pirates, and they actually did it!" The second Erik doubled over with laughter.

The first Erik smiled. This place did sound like fun. If only Erik Barye wasn't down here, cluttering it up. "Little brother, I'd like to buy your lair."

Erik Barye just chuckled. "Destler, I don't need your money. Didn't I just tell you that those two fools who run my theater have been paying me thousands of francs not to obliterate them for the past several years? Nice try, but I'm here to stay."

"Fine!" roared Erik Destler boldly. "Then I'll build my own lair! A better lair!" His gleaming yellow eyes roamed lazily across his half-brother's messy island. "A cleaner lair. Waaaaaaay across the lake from you!"

"No way! I'm not sharing my labyrinth with you!"

"Then you'd better leave, because I'm not!"

"If our mom wasn't such a heartless monster, I'd tell on you!"

TBC…


End file.
